


The Broken Wheel

by Sobriquett



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e01 Broken, F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sobriquett/pseuds/Sobriquett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU for 2x01, Broken, wherein Belle's walk is cut short.</p><p>Belle leaves Rumplestiltskin in the shop, needing to clear her head, but everything in Storybrooke is strange and new. Then she finds the library, and you know what they say about curiosity and the cat...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Broken Wheel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pamchenko_Twist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pamchenko_Twist/gifts).



> For the prompt "trapped in the library elevator."
> 
> To recap, in Broken, Rumple summons the wraith to exact revenge on Regina. When Belle finds out, she tells him he's "still a man who makes wrong choices" and she thought he'd changed. He quips, "what, in the hour you've known me?" and she walks out into the destruction.
> 
> With thanks to Kyrene3 and the RSS organisers - I'm grateful for the extreme patience both showed me and, believe me, I tested them. Also to Pamchenko_Twist for the prompt. This was the fic that broke my six-year hiatus from writing fiction, so I apologise for any roughness, and all mistakes are entirely my own.

Belle wiped her eyes with her bare arm as she shut the door of the shop, sniffing back the rest of her tears. She had been locked up for far too long to weep now she was free. If there were choices to make now – big ones, and lots of them – she would be brave, as she had been before, and make the choices that needed making, no matter how hard. And walking away from Rumplestiltskin, for now, was one of them. Hurtful as his words had been, she _had_ only known Mr. Gold for an hour, and been in Rumple's company for only a year or so, which felt like no time at all in the whole course of her life.

Rumplestiltskin had not forgotten how to be cruel, nor how to twist anyone's words – hers, his own, anyone's – to mean whatever he pleased, although she had forgotten his aptitude for both. She was still reeling from the sudden realisation that he wasn't at all the man she thought she remembered. It wasn't just the human face, the diminished showmanship and repressed magic – it was that intervening _decades_ had softened the memory. Years had passed where there was enough sorrow to fill her days without recalling it too, so she hadn't.

She knew he loved her, she'd had proof of it, and it was the golden thread that buoyed her heart in Regina's tower. She'd forgotten the rest; her dreams were only dreams, if he couldn't keep the spirit of a promise for a single morning.

Rumple's apologies still echoed in her ears, in spite of the clamour of sirens, and for all her uncertainty he was still the only familiar thing in this new world.

She needed time.

Belle wondered when it had grown so late, or if this was a corollary of Rumple's revenge on Regina. When they'd returned to the shop, it had still been the morning, with beautiful blue skies barely streaked with clouds. Now, the sky was black as night, although the street was lit with lanterns atop tall poles, and it was cold to match. She walked quickly down the street, unsure of her destination and unsure of the danger Rumple had unleashed, but needing to be anywhere but the shop. She also needed to not be cold, not again, not so soon. The cold and the dark reminded her of not just one cell, but now two… and a dungeon, once upon a time. She wished she'd brought a cloak, or whatever strange fashion served the purpose of warmth in this town (the dress certainly didn't.) She hadn't seen a cloak, but she hadn't seen more than a handful people to prove or disprove her any of her hypotheses. There was so much to think about, if she only had time.

Belle shivered, rearranging her hair to cover her neck and shoulders and rubbing her chilled arms with cold hands. Even her hospital gown hadn't been as revealing as Belle's new dress, which left her arms and legs bare. As nice as it was to wear something with shape and structure again, soft and delicate, something that encouraged her to stand up straight with her head high, it was not practical for adventuring – much like her gowns from a lifetime ago, before the war. Nor were these shoes particularly practical, although that was nothing new to a noblewoman.

After just a minute, Belle came upon a library – the Storybrooke Free Public Library, read the sign – and noticed dim light from under the door. Perhaps there was somebody inside, somebody who might be sympathetic, who would perhaps know where she could find her father or her friends. If not, there would be books, and there was nothing Belle was better at than getting the information she needed out of books – and it seemed she was already familiar with the language, if the books inside matched the sign. Libraries were also warm, and light, and familiar.

Belle put her hand on the handle, knocking as she opened the door.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

Another crash shook the street and pushed Belle into the quiet building. She'd had no response to her call and there was no sign of life inside. A single chair lay on its side on the floor, and a gap was evident in the otherwise complete row of chairs that remained upright along the walls. Someone had been here recently and left in a hurry, not locking the door or switching off the one lonely lamp that cast deep shadows in all corners of the room. There were two great cabinets with dozens of small drawers and a long counter, and she thought she could see hundreds if not thousands of books in subsequent rooms, all deep under dust, as if the library hadn't been used for years, although the upturned chair suggested otherwise.

It was a mystery, albeit a small one given the boards over the windows. Belle liked mysteries, and a library was a good place to start unpicking the tangle of life after the asylum.

Just behind the upended chair was something strange: dark wood panels on either side of an iron door with a complicated-looking cog and chain mechanism. Almost every surface in the library was covered with cobwebs, but not this door and its controls. It was another small mystery, and the one that caught and held Belle's attention.

Curious despite her fear and now distracted from the chill, Belle went forward to investigate.

There was a metal wheel on the right-hand panel, clear of cobwebs and dust, and Belle turned it cautiously clockwise, watching the doors slowly open. She took an instinctive step back as she caught a glimpse of the inside: a steep drop into near-darkness, with the only illumination coming from one lamp behind her. Several feet down was a small room, almost like a cell, suspended from the top of a vertical tunnel by a thick cable, with two holes in its ceiling – hatches, or trap doors, perhaps? It was difficult to tell in the half-light. Belle frowned, trying to understand this device, its workings and its purpose. Was this another cell? Had someone else been imprisoned, here, until the curse broke?

From what Rumple had suggested on their journey back to the shop from the well, this land had very different technology compared to the Enchanted Forest, such as his horseless (and magic-less) carriage – a car, a _Cadillac_ , he'd said – or the lights that were everywhere and controlled with a switch, not a flame. This contraption was another example, and Belle could not quite grasp what it was.

Examining the panels again, Belle tried the rotating lever on a dial above the iron wheel, turning that clockwise as well. She frowned, watching the compartment descend. With a small huff, and the addition of a second hand, Belle changed direction to turn the dial anti-clockwise and laughed to herself in victory as the compartment ascended instead. When it had risen to hang level with the doors, Belle took a small step forward, her toes right against the edge where the library floor met the little room, keeping her hand on the wheel. She peered into the room, trying to discern its purpose, but not daring to enter.

The street shook again without warning with another crash, this time much closer than before. There was a flash of light and the sound of somebody screaming not too far away. Something fell from the ceiling and startled Belle, who stumbled out of its path. She lost her balance, lurching sideways and forward into the lift. She tried to hold herself up with her hands still on the wheel but it began to spin, loosened by recent use, and then it snapped free, falling with Belle into the little room as the great iron doors clanged shut behind them.

Belle grimaced as she lay on the floor, thoughts stunned out of her head by the sharp pain of breaking her fall with a metal ring. She hissed as she pushed herself into a sitting position, and then panic set in.

She was trapped, and nobody knew she was there.

No, Belle thought, stamping down the beginnings of hysteria. Thought and patience and courage, that was all she needed.

Trying to ignore the pain, Belle scrambled to her feet, still holding the wheel, and pressed up against the door. Belle strained on her tiptoes to see out of the small windows at the top of the door and shouted, punctuating her words by banging the wheel against the door.

“Hello? Hello, is anyone there? Hello?”

She wasn't sure she would be heard over the shrill, never-ending wail that had started with the first crash; it seemed to come from those carriages lining the road, but Belle had no idea how or why. Still, she had to _try_ , to get someone's attention.

Belle found she couldn't maintain the position for long before the burn in her calves was too great and she relaxed, losing sight of the library and street beyond the room's door.

Belle put the wheel down, leaning it against the door, and surveyed the small space. It was too soon to panic, she told herself. There might yet be a way out, or someone would find her before too long. She was, as far as she knew, in the very centre of the town. People would pass by eventually, and she hadn't closed the front door behind her.

The dim light coming through the small windows only allowed Belle to examine the shape of things, not detail, and she found her hands more useful than her eyes. There was some kind of lever on one side of the lift, but it wouldn't budge when she tried to move it, even with both hands gripping the handle and her feet firmly planted on the ground. Each of the other walls was bare, just wooden panels for the base and a metal cage with a wooden frame for the top. Then Belle returned to the door and called again, cacophony or not.

“Hello? Can anyone hear me? Is someone there, please? Hello?”

When there was no response again, Belle stretched onto her toes and glanced out. Nothing had changed. The street was still deserted, still noisy, as far as she could see and hear through the open library door. With a sigh and hands guiding her descent, Belle sat down with her back against the panel closest to the door.

There was one more thing to try. There was magic in this world now, as much as she currently loathed it, so Belle screwed up her courage, closed her eyes, and tried to put all her love and panic and need into the words.

“Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin.”

Belle kept her eyes closed and held her breath, but when there was nothing after a long moment – not a whisper of sound, not a breeze, nothing – she opened her eyes and sighed. Perhaps magic wasn't the same here, she wondered, not letting herself imagine the alternatives. She _knew_ better, she did – if he could hear her, he would come.

With her last easy option gone, Belle made herself comfortable to compose a longer-term strategy. She established a steady rhythm of hitting the metal door with the metal wheel, banging and counting to five, then banging again. At first, each loud clang echoed painfully in her ears, but she soon adjusted to the sound, hopeful that someone would hear it before long.

With no changes in the light and no timepiece, and the annihilation of any sense of time in her decades in the asylum, Belle had little idea of how long passed. All she knew was that the shrieks from the street eventually ceased, leaving her with just the throb of each metallic strike in her head, before sunlight suddenly returned and she could see the faded pattern in the floor for the first time.

Belle stood up, straining again to peek out through the little windows.

“Hello? Please, is anybody there? Can anyone hear me?”

She banged on the door again with the metal wheel, but there was no response.

Belle remained upright this time, leaning against the door with one hand, fingers gripping the little window ledge, and hitting the door with the wheel with the other hand.

Again, she had little sense of time, but it wasn't too long before she could hear voices, a child's voice.

“Can you hear that?” Belle thought she heard a boy say, presumably to a companion.

"Hello?” the boy called, louder now. “Is someone there?”

“Yes!” said Belle, straining on her toes again. “I'm in here!”

She waved through the small window while banging the door frantically, and shouted, “I'm in this little room, I'm stuck.”

A young boy, maybe ten or eleven, hurried across the room to stand in front of the door, next to the upturned chair. Glancing between the discarded furniture and Belle, the boy turned the chair upright and pushed it up against the door, and suddenly his face was just inches from Belle's, only separated by the glass. Up close, Belle could see that his eyes were red and puffy, as if he'd been crying. Perhaps he'd been scared. Perhaps he'd seen Rumple's magic at work. Poor boy, she thought.

“Are you okay? Are you stuck?” he asked. The boy frowned, and she was reminded of someone. “Are you hurt?”

With a start, she realised that the boy reminded her a little of Rumplestiltskin, but that was impossible. She set the thought aside; she would probably see Rumple everywhere until she had thought everything through.

“No, I'm fine,” said Belle.

She relaxed her legs for a moment and rested, smiling up at the boy, and relieved to see him return it with only the faintest shadow in his own grin. He was only the second person she'd spoken to since the curse broke, and she hadn't expected such relief in finding normality. A friendly face, a normal boy.

“I'm just stuck," she said, "and I don't know how to get out.”

When the boy looked away without answering, Belle stretched up to follow his gaze across the library. A man had followed the boy into the room. Belle had hoped for someone she knew, but she didn't recognise him.

The boy turned back to her.

“How did you open the door?” he asked.

“Well… um… there was a wheel.”

“Was?” asked the man.

“Yes...” said Belle, stringing the syllable out.

“Where is it?”

“In here,” said Belle, relaxing her legs again and holding the wheel up so they could see it through the window. Taking a deep breath, she stretched again so she could see them both. "Can you see another way to open the door?”

“No, just that wheel. I guess it went here,” said the man after a brief examination, touching the broken mechanism.

Belle had to twist her head awkwardly to see, and was pleased he didn't question how the wheel had ended up inside, too.

“Don't worry, we'll figure it out,” he said. “I'm David. This is my grandson, Henry.”

“Belle,” she said, with a wave brighter than she felt. As pleasant as it was to not be alone in the dark, company was not all she required: she needed to be out. Henry stamped down the faint beginnings of panic with another puzzle for her to pull apart.

“Belle?” asked Henry. “As in, the Beauty and the Beast?”

“Excuse me?” said Belle; it was too strong an echo of her life to be coincidence. What did he mean? What did he _know_?

David cut off Henry's reply, and his decisiveness in taking command of the situation halted Belle's own enquiries, at least for the moment.

“Not now, Henry. Belle – listen, do you have any family in town?”

“I… I don't know.” Belle thought for a moment; from what little she understood, all of the Enchanted Forest should be in this strange place. “My father might be here. Why?”

“Do you know his name?”

“Sir Maurice, of Avonlea.”

“I know _of_ Sir Maurice, but we never met in the Enchanted Forest, so I wouldn't know him here,” said David. “I'm sorry. Is there anyone else?”

Belle hesitated. Rumplestiltskin's enemies far outnumbered his allies, so she remained silent on that subject.

“Nobody I've seen for years, even before the curse,” she said. It was no lie. “Please, I don't like being trapped.” Neither was that. She wondered if she had learned that expediency from Rumple, and if it undermined her argument against him to have used his trick herself already. “Can you get me out?”

“I think we need magic,” said Henry.

Belle, unfortunately, had to agree. It would at least be the quickest way out, even if there was a mechanical solution.

“We only know two people in town with working magic,” said David, “and neither are known for being helpful, unless there's profit in it.”

“My mom, Regina, and Mr. Gold,” explained Henry. He turned to look down at his grandpa.

“M-mom would help, if I asked her,” stammered Henry.

“No! Not Regina.”

Regina had a son? A sweet son, as well. A small, traitorous part of Belle's mind suggested it might be better to have Regina's help than Rumple's, given that she'd already berated him for his magic, but she pushed the idea away. Belle knew she had the courage to face Regina in the future if she needed to, but she was no fool. She had been trapped in a cage long enough; she could not put herself at risk with that woman again, and Rumple would help her, even if she had to tolerate the cruel, taunting edge to his personality that she'd almost forgotten in the years they'd been apart. She also had the courage to swallow her pride and ask for help when she needed it.

“No, ask Rumple – Mr Gold. He'll help,” Belle said, then paused. Would he? “He will if you tell him it's me.”

“You know Rumplestiltskin?” asked David, eyes narrowed. “How?”

Belle twisted the truth again, then garnished it with a sprinkle of honesty.

“Same as anyone – through a deal. Although I know him better than most. He'll help. Please, will you ask him?”

“Of course!” said Henry. “Won't we, Grandpa? This is what princes do, right? Save damsels in distress?”

Princes? Belle thought. She didn't know of a Prince David, but she supposed Henry would be a prince, being the son of a queen.

“Sure,” said David, but he sounded less eager than his grandson. It had been more likely than not, really, that if David knew Rumplestiltskin, he would not be keen to renew the acquaintance.

“Come on, Henry, let's get this over with.”

As Belle watched David head towards the door, Henry leaned in, conspiratorially and said, “I'm right, aren't I? You're the beauty, and Mr. Gold's the beast? But the book said you died...”

Belle frowned. What book?

“Let's go, Henry,” said David from the front door.

“Don't worry, I know I'm right. We'll be back soon, Belle,” said Henry, with a chirpy wave before his head dipped out of view.

“Thank you!” she called.

Belle sat down to wait, and finally to think freely, with lessened worry for her situation.

She had so many questions about this world. Here was a boy with a grandfather who could not possibly be old enough, especially if one or the other was a prince. And Regina had a _son_? And a book, in which she died, the beauty's fate after the beast?

 _Alive_ , Rumple had said. _All these years, you've been here, alive_.

She sniffed back tears again at the thought of that. Had that been another blow from Regina, to lie to him? It was a better explanation for why he hadn't come for her than any she had concocted – pride, she thought, or feigned indifference, or the remote possibility of superior magic hiding her. But if he had no hope, if it had been so thoroughly extinguished...

So many years, wasted. She felt the sting of it deeply, and she'd fought for him until she had no choices left. Rumple might think he'd had a choice – he'd been free, and powerful, and done nothing.

The realisation floated into Belle's thoughts with no effort on her part, that there was more to his desire for revenge than she thought. How often had his actions with regard to her, especially the rash ones, been emotional misdirection? Did he blame himself?

That was a silly question, Belle thought. Of course he did, even if she did not.

Belle stopped fighting back the tears. She would not weep for herself, but she might for him. He was still a man who made wrong choices, yes, who seemed to yield easily to hate, but no facet of his personality was as simple as that. She had seen from the beginning that he shrouded his heart in layers upon layers of misdirection and obfuscation.

If he would try, to apply that meticulous mind even when his emotions got the better of him, then she would try too. Patience, courage and thoughtfulness. She would teach him.

“Belle? Belle!”

At the sound of Rumple's voice, Belle sniffed and wiped her eyes on her wrist. When that did little, she leaned forward and mopped her face with the hem of her dress. With her distress hidden as well as she could manage, Belle scrambled to her feet and leaned up, knocking on the small window with just her fist.

“In here, Rumple!”

Her heart hammered with relief to see him limping towards her.

“Are you okay, are you hurt?”

“I'm fine,” she said, fist pressed against the glass.“I just want to get _out.”_

“Yes, of course, sweetheart. Stand back, yes? A touch of magic, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Belle said, before stepping backwards until the partition on the opposite wall dug into her back. “Ready,” she called.

There was a faint glow of light through the gap between the doors and then they were sliding open, revealing Rumple's silhouette against the bright daylight from the library door. She didn't even notice Henry and David as she flung herself into Rumple's arms and wrapped hers around his neck. She buried her face in his hair, inhaling, thrilled to be free, still hopelessly sad for him, for lost time. She felt him do the same.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling away, then standing at arm's length. “I don't like being trapped. Thank you.”

“Of course you don't, sweetheart,” said Gold. “I'm sorry I upset you, before. That it got you in this mess.”

Belle saw he was trying to find the words to say more, but they were interrupted by David.

“Sweetheart?” said the other man, incredulous.

Belle finally got her first easy look at him. He was handsome, and he seemed distantly familiar – as if she'd seen his portrait, perhaps, many, many years ago?

David smiled, just a little, and said, “A long time ago… You said, once–”

“Yes, I did,” said Rumple, terse. “And yes. Thank you. You should get Henry home now.”

“A brief flicker of light in an ocean of darkness...” said David, ignoring Rimple's hint.

“Yes.”

Startled as Belle was by that sad and beautiful image, and brimming with questions about what they were talking about, she recognised Rumple's rising temper, and reached to take and squeeze his hand.

“Thank you, David,” she said. “And Henry.”

She curtseyed to Henry and caught a glimpse of a true smile in spite of his red eyes as he bowed back. “I'm grateful to you both.”

“You're welcome, Belle,” said Henry. “This is what princes do.”

Belle laughed, and couldn't help but encourage his earlier theory. “Yes, but they usually try to rescue the lady from a beast, and I trust you won't do that today?"

Henry grinned again. “Nope. Anyway, I never liked the end of that story. It should have been happier.”

Rumple, growing discomfited by not following the conversation, excused himself and Belle. His hand still in Belle's, he led her out of the library and into the daylight. Belle squinted and blinked, unused to the bright light after her time in the darkness. As they crossed the street, Belle looked back with her free hand shading her eyes to see Henry wave as David led him in the opposite direction. Belle pulled her hand free of Rumple's and waved back. She was pleased to have made a kind of friend in this new town, especially one who read.

“What was that about?” asked Belle, when they were finally alone in the back room of the pawn shop, the door carefully locked behind them, sign flipped to closed.

“What, sweetheart?”

“Your conversation with David, then. A brief flicker of light.”

“Something I said to him once, a long time ago. That I knew more of true love than he thought.”

Belle smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist, and said, “I do love you, you know.”

“I do. And I love you, too.”

She leaned in for a kiss, gentle, closing her eyes to enjoy the feel of warm, soft lips, and the new faint scratch of Rumple's human face. She reached up with one hand to cup his cheek.

“You should go, Belle,” Rumple said, pulling away, removing Belle's hand. “Whatever you might think, as human as I appear now, I'm still a monster. Still a beast.”

Belle kissed him again, just a peck. “That's exactly the reason I have to stay.”

She kissed him one more time, long and lingering, enjoying the growing familiarity of their kisses and the future she imagined of many, many more. When they broke apart, something occurred to Belle.

“David said Henry is his grandson, but that can't be right. Is he really? And he said something about princes. Which one's the prince?”

Rumple laughed. “Yes, he's the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming, through their daughter Emma Swan – you'll like her – and the adopted son of Queen Regina.”

“Snow White? I thought she was wanted for treason.”

“A lot's happened since… since we parted.”

“Will you tell me, over a cup of tea? You always did tell wonderful stories.”

"As you wish,” he said, going to boil the kettle again as Belle made herself comfortable with cushions and blankets in a warm room full of curios. It felt like home. “Once upon a time...”


End file.
